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UNACCUSTOMED 
AS I AM 



NEJT BORZOI POETRY 
SPRING 1920 

IN AMERICAN 

By J. V. A. Weaver 
MEDALLIONS IN CLAY 

By Richard Aldington 
THE MYSTIC WARRIOR 

By James Oppenheim 
RESURRECTING LIFE 

By Michael Strange 



THE SACRED WOOD 

Essays on Poetry and Criticism 
By T. S. Eliot 



UNACCUSTOMED 
AS I AM 



BY 

MORRIE RYSKIND 




NEW YORK 

ALFRED • A • KNOPF 

1921 



COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc. 






m 



\4^^^^ 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



0)CU605374 

A.V0 j 



1 



Dedicated 

to the Great American Democracy 

— may it bring me Royalty 



CONTENTS 



Apologia 3 
Opening Chorus 4 

RANDOM RHYMES ON LOVELY LADIES 

Adelaide 7 

To Silvia 8 

Concerning a Critical Maid 10 

To June, Desiring a Poem 11 

To Natalie 12 

Frances 13 

"0 My Amy, Mine No More! " 14 

For a Very Pretty Lady with a Very 

Pretty Name 15 
Constancy 16 
The Cynic Speaks 17 
To a Friend 18 
Love Song of a Young Cynic 19 

OFFERING 

Offering 23 

Song 24 

Triolet 25 

With a Sapphire to His Love 26 



To THE Unusual Her, Departing 27 
The Higher Criticism 28 
Faith 30 

LITERARY FOOTNOTES 
Lines on Hearing Walter de la Mare 33 
Clearing It Up 34 
Jane 36 
If Wordsworth Had Been Irving Berlin 37 

A HANDY INTERLINEAR 

Lines on Reading Horace: Book I, Ode 22 41 

Horace Raps the Co-Educational System 42 

Horace the Wise 44 

Horace Answers a Foolish Question 45 

Horace Comes Out with It 46 

Horace Proves Himself a Good Loser 48 

Horace Moralizes 50 

Integer Vittles: the Wolf Speaks 52 

Horace Delivers a Money-Log 54 

Horace Proposes 56 

Horace Joins the Prohibitionists 57 

Persicos Odi: Another Version 58 

Horace Delivers a Lecture 59 

The Democracy of Death 60 

Canny Catullus 62 

CAPSULE CLASSICS , 
Caesar's "De Bello Gallico" 65 
Cicero: In Catilinam I 65 
Gray's "Elegy" 66 



INCLUDING THE MISCELLANEOUS 

Triolet on Informality 69 

Appearances 70 

April 72 

Triolet 73 

Regarding a Sense of Humor 74 

Creed 77 

Which Maintains that Speech May Be Golden 78 

Ballade of Immodesty 80 

Fiat Justitia 82 

Life 86 

Happy Thought for Some Struggling Nation 87 

The Gladiators 88 

AN AVIATOR'S WAR GARDEN OF VERSES 

I. A Thought 91 

II. Whole Duty of Airplanes 91 

III. Happy Thought 91 

IV. Unhappy Thought 91 
V. System 92 

VI. Looking Forward 92 

VII. Time to Rise 92 

VIII. Foreign Lands 93 

IX. The Planes 93 

IN MEMORIAM: 

JAMES SAUNDERS O'NEALE, JR. 94 

THE ROGUE'S GALLERY SEAT 
The Theatre: A Theme with Variations 
I. Walt Mason 97 

II. Walt Whitman 98 



III. Hughie Fullerton 99 

IV. Robert Louis Stevenson 100 
V. Irving Berlin 101 

VI. Rudyard Kipling 102 

The Tanguay to Fortune 103 

To Dorothy Beatrice Nichols 104 

LiNA Cavalieri 106 

George M. Cohan 107 

Douglas Fairbanks 108 

Bill Hart 110 

Around Our Studio 

I. The Director 113 
II. The Star: Female of the Species 113 

III. The Star: Male of the Species 114 

IV. The Camera Man 115 
V. The Studio Child 115 

VI. The Ingenue 116 

VII. The Vampire 116 

VIII. "Props" 117 

IX. The Studio Dog 117 

X. The Casting Director 118 

XI. The Technical Director 119 

XII. The Press Agent 119 

Ask Any Author 121 



UNACCUSTOMED 
AS I AM 



APOLOGIA 

What though we dream our dream? 

What though we fight and rage? 
What though ive strive and scheme? 

This world is but a stage! 

And yet — the spotlight lures. 

And so we force a smile 
And seek fame that endures — 

Only a little while! 



OPENING CHORUS 

A triolet's a pretty thing 

To open up a vol. with. 
Oh, who can blame me if I sing, 
" A triolet's a pretty thing ! " 
With it a frail may cop a king — 
It's good to make a moll with ! 
A triolet's a pretty thing 
To open up a vol. with! 



RANDOM RHYMES 
ON LOVELY LADIES 



ADELAIDE 

Blow, bugles, blow for Adelaide! 

Pay ye the tribute that I owe her: 
For though I dine with that there maid, 
It's Dutch : she will not let me blow her. 
And since somebody ought to do it, 
I pray ye, bugles, please go to it! 



TO SILVIA 

Many maidens have I known, 

Maids of varied shapes and sizes — 
Some of brawn and some of bone; 

Sadies, Charlottes, Janes, and 'Lizas. 
Some had looks; some were not blest; 

Some were stupid; some were witty 
But not one would let me rest 

Till I dashed her off a ditty. 

Take it from a bard who knows: 

Hard his lot who likes the ladies 
If he does not stick to prose! . . . 

I supplied the Janes and Sadies 
With the poems they would ask. 

But I thought some thoughts satiric. 
Fervently I cursed my task 

And the subject of each lyric. 

Long the path that never ends ; 

Long the lane without a turning. 
It's some time that we've been friends. 

Yet you've not expressed a yearning 
For a poem that would praise 

You, and tell how you delight one; 



Though you claim to like my lays, 
You have not asked me to write one. 

Lady, that is not a bar. 

When I find a sweet and pretty 
Maid and clever — which you are — 

I can't help but write a ditty 
To her. Lady, take this song 

As it's meant: it is not merely 
That I want to get in strong, 

But a tribute paid sincerely. 



CONCERNING A CRITICAL MAID 

Come on and help me, Muses Nine, 

To sing my Ethel's praises. 
Inspire me with a lilting line, 
And help me make this lyric shine 
With scintillating phrases! 

What time I sing about her eyes. 

And say I love them dearly: 
She says, " How prettily he lies ! " 
Wherefore I ask ye put her wise 
That I am Hers Sincerely. 

And when I dare to lift my voice 
And praise her lustrous hair. 
Does she, the maiden of my choice. 
Appear to hearken and rejoice? . . . 
Well, not that Vm aware! 

At times she says my rhythms err, 

Wherefore I promise ye: 
I'll bring ye frankincense and myrrh 
If these lines look as good to her 

As her lines look to me! 



10 



TO JUNE, DESIRING A POEM 

Is it wise to gild the lily? 

Or put perfume on the rose? 
Lady, that were far too silly! 

Better I should stick to prose 
Than that I attempt to paint you 

And your wondrous, winning way. 
You're a pippin, you are, ain't you? 

» * * 
So you were before this lay. 



11 



TO NATALIE 

Although your charms are many. 

Although you're sweet and cute, 
Although you equal any 

Magnetic little beaut, 
I'm sick of reading matter 

Your many beaux turn out 
In re your charming chatter, 

In re your pretty pout. 

I wish they'd stop their praising 

Your eyes, your nose, your smile; 
And cut their lyric phrasing 

For just a little while. 
I know their verses grip you — 

But put them on the shelf! . . . 
You see, I want to slip you 

A verse or two myself. 



12 



FRANCES 

No wonder that 

I'm fond of Frances: 
She doesn't make 

Me go to dances. 



13 



"0 MY AMY, MINE NO MORE! " 

Lady, once we hit the trail together, 
Once we used to pull the double play. 

Mattered neither money nor the weather — 
We would be united every day. 

Had you but a toothache or a cold, I, 

By request, would come to read my rhymes. 

Lady, you'll admit it was some hold I 
Had upon you. Them was happy times! 

But, my lady, times have changed — nor slightly 

/ have been discarded — put away. 
Comes another lad to see you nightly. 

(Maybe still another in the day!) 

Oh, but he's the cute emd handsome chappie ! 

Oh, but he's the arrow-collar guy! 
Yet, I wonder, lady, are you happy? 
« « « 

Girlie, need I say it? So am I. 



14 



FOR A VERY PRETTY LADY WITH A VERY 
PRETTY NAME 

Of all the girls I know 

Somehow I take delight 
In only one. Although, 
Of all the girls I know 
Some men are fond of Flo, 

While some think Ruth just right, 
Of all the girls I know 

Somehow / take Delight. 



15 



CONSTANCY 

I had vowed that my love was eternal, 

And I had believed it. 

But she, woman-wise, had said that I would forget. 

" A year," she said, " is a long time 
To be faithful to a memory — 
And I shall be gone for a year." 

So she had not let me kiss her good-bye 

When her steamer left: 

" When I come back," she said, 

" If you still want me — 

But you will forget." 

Every Sunday morning I write her a letter 
That tells of my constant love. . . . 
Yesterday, as I cleaned my desk, 
I came across the picture of her 
I used to carry with me. 



16 



THE CYNIC SPEAKS 

" Scorn we scoffers ! Scorn we fate ! 

Love like ours can never die! " . . 
Would 'twere so! Yet, sad to state, 
Scorn we scoffers, scorn we fate. 
Even we shall separate — 

Matters not how loud we cry, 
"Scorn we scoffers! Scorn we fate! 

Love like ours can never die! " 



17 



TO A FRIEND 

You laugh at me 

Because I " take it so seriously." 

" Cheer up, old man," 

You tell me, 

" There are as good fish in the sea . . . 

You remember 

How I felt about Ethel. . . . 

And there was Sylvia, too . . . 

But one gets over it: 

There's probably a new one 

Waiting around the corner." 

Maybe there is " a new one 

Waiting around the corner." 

At any rate, 

I hope so. 

But though I thank you for your interest, 

I can't help thinking of you 

As a barber, 

Who is always welcoming a customer, 

And at the same time 

Calling "Next!" 

To another. 



18 



LOVE SONG OF A YOUNG CYNIC 

I know there isn't one of 'em who's true; 

I know there isn't one who's worth the while. 
Oh, I've been fooled by eyes of brown and blue, 

And paid my tribute to a dimpled smile 
Too long! I'm wise to every trick they know — 

I'm proof against the darts that they may hurl. 
But summertime is calling me, and so 

I guess I'll go and get myself a girl. 
The summertime is calling me — and so 

I guess I'll go and get myself a girl. 

They play the game, but never play it fair; i|l 

They poison every arrow that they use. 
There's never one of 'em who's on the square; 

So, win or not, a man is bound to lose. 
I learned the truth about 'em long ago. 

Since when a lot of things have come to pass. 
But summertime is calling me, and so 

I guess I'll go and land myself a lass. 
The summertime is calling me — and so 

I guess I'll go and land myself a lass. 



19 



OFFERING 



OFFERING 

Only my songs I bring to you — 

But songs that come from the heart of me. 
No gold is mine to fling to you: 
Only my songs I bring to you, 
Songs that I always will sing to you j 

While life and love are a part of me. | 

Only my songs I bring to you — 

But songs that come from the heart of me! 



23 



SONG 

/ kissed my love in the morning, 0, 
And her lips were wondrous sweet. 

I have kissed my love in the month of June, 
'Neath a starry sky and a smiling moo;';, 
And I thought my joy complete. 

But I kissed my love in the morning, 0, 
And her lips were wondrous sweet. 

The kiss that brightened the livelong day. 
And sent dull care and pain away. 

/ kissed my love in the morning, 0, 
And her lips were wondrous sweet. 



24 



TRIOLET 

'Tis winter — ah, yes ! — and I know it 
(But here in my heart it is Spring). 

The snow and the wind seem to show it: 

'Tis winter — ah, yes ! — and I know it. 

But what would you have of the poet 
Who feels that he cannot but sing? 

'Tis winter — ah, yes ! — and I know it : 
But here in my heart it is Spring! 



25 



WITH A SAPPHIRE TO HIS LOVE 

I wondered what to give you as a token, 

And, thinking earth 

Held no such worth, 
I looked above and saw the sapphire skies — 
And then it seemed to me that God had spoken. 



26 



TO THE UNUSUAL HER, DEPARTING 

Till you return, 

The heart of me 
Shall always yearn. 
Till you return, 
My soul shall learn 

What aches there be — 
Till you return 

The heart of me! 



27 



THE HIGHER CRITICISM 

It was a Saturday evening in July, 

And I was in the poet's house 

(By request) . . . 

And the poet and I were talking of Life and its Mean- 
ing. . . . 

And watching the people that passed and re-passed in 
the street below. . . . 

And I felt that the crowds were thrilled with the joy of 
Life, 

And I said, "Let us go for a walk, and study the folk 
that we meet, 

For among them the meaning is hidden." 

But the poet said, " First let me read you my 
poem." . . . 

It was a good poem — as poems go. 
But it was a long poem 
(It took him an hour, I think, to read it). 
And, while he read, 
A girl, passing fair, walked slowly by. 
Looked up and smiled. The poet read on. . . . 
A lover and his lass walked hand in hand. 
Unmindful of the folk that saw and smiled . . . 
A father, with a little one in his arms, 
28 



Bent down and kissed the flesh of his flesh 
With the dear, fierce joy of fatherhood . . . 
And then, somehow, I thought of Her . . . 

The poet read on, but I heard nothing . . . 
And I stared at the people in the street, but I saw them 
not . . . 

For I was thinking of Her .... 

" Well," said the poet, " what do you think of it? " 

I started. ..." The best thing you have ever done." \ 

And the poet blushed, and modestly added 

He thought so, too. 



29 



FAITH 

I have been wary, cynical and wise: 

I have laughed hugely at the Scheme of Things 
The faith of peasants, and the fate of kings — 

That was before I looked into your eyes. 



30 



LITERARY FOOTNOTES 



LINES ON HEARING WALTER DE LA MARE 
DELIVER A LECTURE 

I like the verse you put across 
So vaguely and mysteriously . . . 

But I would like to ask, " Old Hoss, 
Why take yourself so seriously? " 



33 



CLEARING IT UP 

Why are the things that have no death 

The ones with neither sight nor breath? 

Eternity is thrust upon 

A bit of earth, a senseless stone. 

A grain of dust, a casual clod 

Receives the greatest gift of God. 

A pebble in the roadway lies — 

It never dies. 

The grass our fathers cut away 

Is growing on their graves today; 

The tiniest brooks that scarcely flow 

Eternally will come and go. 

There is no kind of death to kill 

The sands that lie so meek and still. • . . 

But man is great and strong and wise — 

And so he dies. 

— "Irony" by Louis Untermeyer. 

Louis, I've listened to your shout 
And — here's the way I dope it out: 
The bit of earth, the senseless stone, 
Do nothing that they dare not own. 
The grain of dust (compare line five) 
You say will always be alive 
Has never told a single lie — 
Why should it die? 

34 



The grass that grows so green to-day 

Has always gone the righteous way. 

The brook that flows eternally 

Has never been upon a spree. 

The sands, the hillside, and the dale 

Have never told a naughty tale . . . 

But Man ! — he swears and drinks and smokes 

And so he croaks. 



35 



JANE 

In the Manner of the " Others " School of Poetry. 

I looked into her eyes — 

And I said, " Look straight into mine ! " 

But she could not — 

She was cock-eyed! 

Bah! 

I hate cock-eyed people. 



36 



IF WORDSWORTH HAD BEEN IRVING BERLIN 



JFhen all at once I saw a crowd. 



A host of golden daffodils." 

— Wordsworth. 

Honey, I been thinkin' just of you, 

Hitchy Koo! Hitchy Koo! Hitchy Koo! 

As I took a stroll, Tootsie Roll! Tootsie Roll! 

Through Central Park for a lark. 

Then — 

All at once I saw — Lawdy me, I saw 

A bunch of prancin', dancin', romancin' daffodils — 

Boom! Boom! 

Chorus 

0! 0! That daffodil rag! 
Mag! Everybody's crazy, daffodil, daflfodil. 
They twinkle like the stars on the Milky Way, 
They rag together in a silky sway 
As they do — Hip! Hip! As they do — Hip! Hip! 
As they do that daring, scaring, flaring, dippy, zippy 
Daffodil Rag. 



37 



A HANDY INTERLINEAR 



LINES ON READING HORACE: BOOK I, ODE 22 

Written on being expelled from Columbia University for com- 
menting editorially — and adversely — on Nicholas Murray Butler. 

A bard of simple life and pure, 

Who writes of Lalage — and others, 
May go his way serene and sure 

And gain the praises of his brothers. 
But if he dare to write a wheeze 

Against the well-known Powers That Be, 
Does he still tread the Path of Ease? 

. . . Well, look at me! 



41 



HORACE RAPS THE CO-EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM 

Book I, Ode 8 

" Lydia, die, per omnis — " 

Why, Lydia, where's all your college spirit! 
If you have got to play the Theda Bara, 
Pick out some guy who bats around .120 — 
Sybaris is needed. 

Syb used to have the speed of Walter Johnson — 
That in of his had all the batters batty! .... 
To-day, the subs got to him for three homers. 
Oh, he was rotten! 

He's getting fat — he doesn't run his hits out. 
He doesn't even argue with the umpires! .... 
There's something in the woodpile — and it isn't 
A colored lady. 

He's broken training — oh, I know — I've seen him: 
Seen both of you come reeling out of Riker's. 
It made me mad! — that big brute munching chocolates 
And cooing at you. 

He wasn't born to be a dancing-cootie! 
Why don't you pick yourself a frantic fusser, 
42 



Some frat man who has lots of clever small-talk, 
And loads of money? 

We're playing Princeton on this coming Thursday. 
You know how bad we want to trim the Tigers! 
Well, we can do it, too — if Sybaris pitches. 
. . . You know the answer. 



43 



HORACE THE WISE 

Book I, Ode 5 
" Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa — " 

0, Pyrrha, tell me who's the guy, 

The boob, the simp you've got a date with? 
(Well I recall what time 'twas / 
You'd tete-a-tete with!) 

I saw him in the barber's chair: 

His face perfumed with scented water. 
And oil upon his shoes and hair — 
Dressed for the slaughter! 

I do not know this kid whose goat 

You've got by saying you adore him. 
But, take it from this famous pote, 
I'm sorry for him ! 

The Fates deal kindly with the lad! 

This crush of his — how he will rue it ! 
He'll call you everything that's Bad — 
Ain't / been through it? 



44 



HORACE ANSWERS A FOOLISH QUESTION 

Ad Leuconoen 

Book I, Ode 11 
" Tu ne quaesieiis, scire nefas — " 

Don't ask how long you have to live — 

You'll die before you know it. 
This little counsel let me give: 
Don't ask how long you have to live; 
It shows your mind is like a sieve — 

Accept it from this poet. 
Don't ask how long you have to live — 

You'll die before you know it! 



45 



HORACE COMES OUT WITH IT 

Ad Lydiam 

Book I, Ode 13 
"Cum tu, Lydia, Telephi — " 

Lydia, I don't care a cuss 
For the charms of Telephus! 
He may have it on Apollo — 
But his praises I shan't swallow. 

When I come to call on you, 
Won't some other topic do? 
Can't we spill some conversation 
On the Horace Situation? 

What! he bit you in the neck! 
He must be a nervous wreck! 
Further, take it from this writer, 
He's a bum and a backbiter! 

Lydia, listen to my words: 
Guys like them are fickle birds. 
Life with them ain't half so quiet 
As an Emma Goldman riot! 



46 



Triply happy is that wife 

Whose beloved sticks for life! 

Hate nor jealousy can reach her. 

.... Lydia, shall I call the preacher? 



47 



HORACE PROVES HIMSELF A GOOD LOSER 

Book I, Ode 19 
"Mater saeve Cupidinum — " 

I said to Love, " Get out — I'm wise ! 
I will not listen to your lies. 
I've been a sucker long enough, 
But now I know you're One Big Bluff. 
You've fooled me once too often, damn you! 
Get out — get out, before I slam you! 
I'm through, you hear? I'm through — Good Night! " 
. . . Love said, " A' right, a' right, a' right ! " 

So I was free a little while — 

Till Glycera slipped me a smile. 

But now my nerves are on the blink — 

Last night I couldn't sleep a wink! 

I've got some sonnets to indite, 

A lot of articles to write — 

But though I try, it's all in vain — 

For I've got Glycera on the brain! 

Well, here's to make the best of it: 
I will not sulk the littlest bit. 
I'll go to Love and ask his pardon; 
I'll blow him to some nice roof -garden. 
48 



He'll have the best that wealth can buy, 
While I shall dine on humble pie. 
And he'll concede, when he has eaten, 
I'm a good sport when I am beaten. 



49 



HORACE MORALIZES 

Book I, Ode 22 
" Integer vitae scelerisque purus — " 

Fuscus, the free-and-easy life 

Is, generally speaking, cheesy. 
But, if you're free from crime and strife — 
The rest is easy. 

The man who shuns the Primrose Path 

Knows that no boor nor gun can bore him. 
He doesn't fear Olympian wrath — 
The gods are for him. 

I walked the Sabine wood one day 
Totally unprepared for danger. 
And met a wolf upon the way — 
A perfect stranger. 

I had no gun; I had no gang. 

But was I frightened? Nope! The merest 
Glance I bestowed on hira — and sang 
About my dearest. 

He beat it back into the woods, 

Saying, "Excuse me, please, your Honor." . 
50 



But had I dealt in stolen goods, 
I'd been a goner. 

Place me where Peary found the pole. 

Or let the desert sun inflame me: 
Still Lalage shall claim my soul — 
And can you blame me? 



51 



INTEGER VITTLES: THE WOLF SPEAKS 

I'm breezin' through the woods one day — 
And, gee! but I was hungry, Mawruss — 

And spies a little up the way 
This poet Horace. 

"Ah-ha! " says I. "Here's where I feed." 

I hid behind a tree and waited. 
This Horace guy don't show no speed — 

He's easy-gaited. 

But then at last he passes by — 

I'm poised, you understand, for springin'— 
And then he turns and gets my eye 

And starts in singin'. 

That saved his life, take it from me — 
Consarn the thought that made him do so! 

His verses may be good, but he 
Is no Caruso. 

You know the way a barker speaks? 

The way that cats at night start yellin'? 
You know the way a huskster shrieks 

His "Wat-er-melonl"? 



Well, that's the way this Horace sung — 

Thinks I, " Here's food that I had best shun. 

The way those lyric notes were strung 
Caused indigestion. 

Let Horace, if he will, rejoice 

Because his virtue made me fear him. 

As long as he retains that voice 
I'll not come near him. 



53 



HORACE DELIVERS A MONEY-LOG 

Book II, Ode 2 

" Nullus argento color est avaris — " 

Sallust, listen while I sing: 

After all, what's gold amount to? 

Money isn't everything — 

Though you've more than you can count to. 

Proculeius will be known 

For his disposition sunny, 
Even if he doesn't own 

Such an awful lot of money. 

Blessed he who doesn't aim 

To be wealthy as a waiter! 
He shall have a spotless name — 

Is there anything that's greater? 

Eating, drinking all the day 

Is a recipe for dropsy. 
There's the deuce — and bills — to pay 

When the liver's tipsy-topsy. 

Phraates now holds the job 

That was held before by Cyrus. 
54 



Is he popular as Cobb — 
Irvin S., Corn-on-, or Tyrus? 

Nix! The boob has got his eyes 
On the money it will net him. 

But the Common Folk are wise — 
They and Femie will both forget him. 



55 



HORACE PROPOSES 

Book I, Ode 23 
" Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloe — " 

Come, Chloe, why are you so shy? 

Why do you blush when you behold me? 
And if I talk of love ! — you balk 
And even scold me. 

That such a maid should be afraid 

To grant a kiss — and almost twenty ! 
Come, marry me, and I shall see 
That you get plenty. 



56 



HORACE JOINS THE PROHIBITIONISTS 

Ad Puerum 

Book I, Ode 38 

" Persicos odi, puer, apparatus — " 

Go ! take away that Persian stuff — 

I'll stick to Roman candles. 
I guess I've had about enough. 
Go! take away that Persian stuff — 
I care not for their silken fluff, 

Their gay life and their scandals. 
Go! take away that Persian stuff — 

I'll stick to Roman candles. 



57 



PERSICOS ODI: ANOTHER VERSION 

The Persian pomp I do detest — 
Those guys ask nothing but the best. 
Democracy is not their line: 
They only drink imported wine — 
They wouldn't even smell the rest. 

They know the way to treat a guest. 
So much must really be confessed — 
But yet, somehow, I must decline 
The Persian pomp. 

In roast beef rare there is more zest 
Than caviar. A bird who's dressed 

In evening clothes may be a shine. 

Yep ! Make it ham and eggs for mine ! 
No frills, there, waiter. It's a pest. 
The Persian pomp! 



58 



HORACE DELIVERS A LECTURE 

Book III, Ode 15 
" Uxor pauperis Ihyci — " 

Chloris, cut the cabaret; 

Drop the dance and stop the song: 
Shun the lights of Old Broadway — 

Home's the place where you belong! 
Home is where a woman's place is — 
After she has lost her graces. 

Yes, your daughter's rather gay — 
But that's no excuse for you. 

Don't forget you had your day — 
But, old lady, now you're through! 

You're a pretty aged dame — 

Ain't you got no sense of shame? 

When a woman's fifty-four 

It is time she settled down. 
She should roam around no more, 

Cutting up all over town. 
'Stead of joining the carousers, 
Mend your ways — and hubby's trousers ! 



59 



THE DEMOCRACY OF DEATH 
Deadicated to Dr. Berthold A. Baer 

(Rondeau Redouble) 

Horace: Book II, Ode 3 

" Aeguam memento rebus in arduis — " 

Youve got to go across the Styx 

When Charon calls out " All aboard! " 

Although you own a Super Six — 
Although you can't afford a Ford. 

Death is the Ultimate Reward 

For City Folks and Country Hicks; 

And, though it's much to be deplored, 
You've got to go across the Styx. 

So what's the use of kicking? Kicks, 
You know, are sure to be ignored: 

You can't escape by any tricks 

When Charon calls out, " All aboard! 

Suppose you've saved a little hoard — 
It will not save you from your fix. 

For Death refuses to be floored 
Although you own a Super Six. 
60 



Life is a game in which Death picks : 
Riches may not avert the sword — 

Nor poverty — you can't say " Nix ! " 
Although you canh afford a Ford. 

So bring the wine and have it poured! 

For — darn the metaphors we mix! — 
No one but hears the fatal chord, 

And, when your Final Second ticks, 
You^ve got to go! 



61 



CANNY CATULLUS 

Ode 70 

Myrtilla swears that I'm the chappy 

She loves the bestest in the land. 
That sine me* she won't be happy. 
(*You understand?) 

Not Johnny D., that wealthy sinner, 

Nor any other guy of note — 
Not even Jove himself could win her 
From this here pote. 

She says so — BUT — the hurt of it! - 

The vows of her whom I so prize 
On wind in water should be writ — 
In short, she lies! 



62 



CAPSULE CLASSICS 



I 

CAESAR'S " DE BELLO GALLICO " 

Well, Rome really needed the money; 

And, further, the Gauls got too funny. 
So we sent out our legions 
To conquer those regions. 

J. Caesar? Yep, he was there, sonny. 



II 
CICERO: IN CATILINAM I 

Say, kiddo, we know what you're after, 
You dastardly Tammany grafter! 

Get out of this city 

The while Ave have pity — 
Or else we will smother your laughter! 



65 



Ill 

GRAY'S " ELEGY " 

We're fools if ambition can fret us. 
If we would live happily, let us 

Cease all our worrying, 

Hurrying, scurrying — 
Death in the end's sure to get us. 



66 



INCLUDING THE MISCELLANEOUS 



TRIOLET ON INFORMALITY 

In ragged togs and tattered. 

Let's laugh and dance and shout! 
In dusty shoes and battered, 
In ragged togs and tattered — 
As though the clothing mattered! 

Let's cut the full dress out: 
In ragged togs and tattered 

Let's laugh and dance and shout. 



69 



APPEARANCES 

To look at me, you would not guess 

I had the girlies on the go; 
That sixty sirens — more or less — 

Would wade for me through fire and snow; 
That I get letters every day 

Addressed, " My dear," " My one and only 
Instead, it's ten to one you'd say 
That I was lonely. 



To look at me, you would not think 
That I had broken up a home; 

That I drove one poor girl to drink 
And forced another one to roam. 

You'd introduce me to your dame 
Without a doubt upon your mind. 

And think, " The girl that wants his name 
Is surely blind." 

In short, I am not one who looks 
As though he had the girlies crazy. 

You'd think I'd never get my hooks 
On any frail you'd call a daisy. 
70 



Ofif-hand, now, tell me, would you dream 
I go a-calling every night? 



* * * 



Well, things are sometimes what they seem: 
Your guess is right. 



71 



APRIL 

April, it's to you I lift my praises, 
And it seems to me that I have reason : 

Month of many moods and many phases, 
Don't you usher in the baseball season? 

Further, month that is now sad, now merry, 

How I longed for you in January! 

April, they say you're a gay deceiver; 

Claim you give us too much rainy weather; 
Say that you're the cause of " that spring fever 

But you bring the Giants and Cubs together! 
Also, month of April, I might hint 
That my odes to you get into print. 

April, for the reasons that I've noted 

And one other that I soon will mention, 

To you, April darling, I'm devoted — 
April, may I have your kind attention? 

Sweetest month of all, you give a fella 

Hopes of swiping somebody's umbrella! 



72 



TRIOLET 

All I asked was her hand — 
But she added her heart. 

Did she then understand 

All I asked was her hand? 

For she said, " You command 
Uniil death do us part! " 

All I asked was her hand — 
But she added her heart! 



73 



REGARDING A SENSE OF HUMOR 

A sense of humor is all right 
In its place. . . 

The Most Wonderful Girl 

And I 

Were dining at the Dutch Oven 

(The Most Wonderful Girl 

Comes from Texas, 

And she had never been to the Oven before) . 

And she waited in vain for the appearance 

Of a Windsor Tie. 

But she did see Soft Collars, 

And Tortoise-Shell Glasses 

Other than mine. 

And I pointed out Max Eastman to her, 

And Walter Frankl of the Washington Square Players; 

And the meal was a good meal. . . . 

So the Most Wonderful Girl was very happy, 

Almost as happy as I was 
Because I was sitting opposite her. 

And the Most Wonderful Girl 

Said, " I thought everybody talked to everybody else 
here," 

74 



And I answered, 

" If any man talks to you here, 

He does it over my dead body! " 

There is such a thing as being Too Radical. . . . 

The Most Wonderful Girl laughed. 

And said, "But there ought to be a place like that! 

Let's start one." 

And we grew merry discussing our plans 
For a real Bohemian restaurant. . . . 

One man sat at a corner table, 
Alone, 

And the Most Wonderful Girl said, 
" Look at him, Morrie. 
We're so happy here. 
And he's all alone; 
Can't we ask him to sit with us? " 
And a great lump rose in my throat, 
Because no one but the Most Wonderful Girl would have 
thought of that. 

Just then some one sat down with the man at the corner 

table, 
And he missed knowing the Most Wonderful Girl. . . . 
But I didn't care about him; 
I was thinking of the Most Wonderful Girl, 
And how wonderful she was. . . . 

Over our coffee, she asked for the poem 
I had promised to show her . . . 

75 



I had written her a love song, 

In rather a breezy, light-hearted vein. 

But I meant every word of it . . . 

So I passed her the poem, 

With my heart in my throat as she read it. . . . 

At first she laughed, 
And I grew furious 
Because she wouldn't take me seriously. 

Then over her face there passed a quizzical look. 

And she grew pensive 

While I waited for my answer. 

She leaned over and said, 

"Morrie." 

" Yes," I said hoarsely. 

" Tell me," she said, 

" Isn't this trochaic tetrameter? " 

A sense of humor is all right — 
In its place. 



April, 1916. 



76 



CREED 

Whatever the Soul in me will, so be it the Mind in me 

can, 
I shall write — but always and ever the theme of my 

songs shall be Man. 



77 



WHICH MAINTAINS THAT SPEECH MAY BE 
GOLDEN 

There is, 

As old Ed Masters has pointed out, 

In vers libre fully £is rhythmical as this. 

Though not quite so clever 

(E. g., the next line). 

Something to be said for silence. 

For certain crises, 

Silence is the Correct Thing. 

But for Life's Greatest Moments, 

The tongue finds utterance. 

When Her letter came, 

The letter that meant everything to me. 

It contained the one word, 

"Love," 

And I could not speak. 

A lump came to my throat. 

And tears to my eyes. 

But no words to my lips. 

So, too, when at the Polo Grounds 

While the Giants were breaking the record for consecu- 
tive wins, 

78 



A rainbow appeared in the sky 

With all the regulation colors. 

My heart broke the world's record for leaping up, 

Though I said nothing. . . . 

But the moment after, 

When Fletcher made a miraculous stop of a scorcher, 

And caught the runner at the plate, 

I found my tongue 

And uttered two words pregnant with meaning, 

"Oh, boy!" 



Sept. 1916. 



79 



BALLADE OF IMMODESTY 

Sing me not Marlowe's praise; 

Nor say that Chaucer's fine; 
Why quote from Shakespeare's plays 

When newer stars now shine? 

Old words, unlike old wine, 
Grow stale and lose their tone. 

To use them / decline: 
/ like to quote my own. 

Why go back to the days 

Burns labeled "Auld Lang Syne"? 
Why quote Bob Herrick's lays 

About his Valentine? 

Why not quote one of mine? 
For, though I stand alone 

(Like William Jennings Bry'n), 
I like to quote my own. 

There are some sixty ways 

[In toto, sixty-nine) 
Of polishing a phrase. 

Of jeweling a line. 

Some rave of Gertrude Stein ; 
While some like Georgie Coh'n; 



Yet, as you may divine, 
/ like to quote my own. 



Friends, come with me to dine, 
But be prepared to groan. 

To languish and repine: 
/ like to quote my own. 



81 



111 iiiiii"Ti-" "'"^t r 'T itTii -I --"»i^****«^^™^^*^^^^-*^-^ 



FIAT JUSTITIA 

The God of Things- As-They- Are, He maheth man from 

dust. 
And He smiles as He works away — for the God of Gods 

is just. 



A man there lived, and he sang. And his songs were 

praise of the Lord: 
He praised His truth and His wisdom — and he warned 

of His righteous sword. 

And he counselled men to turn them away from the 

things of earth, 
And to open their hearts to penance — and to cast from 

them folly and mirth. 

But still his fellows followed the road that their hearts 

had made, 
And frolicked with Laughter and Love — and sweet was 

the game they played. 

So, seeing his efforts were fruitless, he made him a her- 
mit's den. 

And gave up his life to God — far, far from the haunts 
of men. 

82 



And so, when the good man passed, no mortal tear was 

shed; 
For men had forgotten he lived — and how should they 

know he was dead? 

But the God of Things-As-They-Are — Who maketh man 

from dust — 
He smiled in a whimsical way — for the God of Gods 

is just. 

And He spake : " This man hath followed the blessed 

ways of the Lord, 
Believing in Heaven and Glory. Lo, he shall have his 

reward! " 

And He gave him a harp to play on, and He added a 

pair of wings. 
And now, as on earth, so in Heaven, the praise of the 

Lord he sings. 



The God of Things-As-They-Are, He maketh man from 

dust. 
And He smiles as He works away — for the God of Gods 

is just. 



A man there lived, and he sang. And Man was the 

theme of his song; 
He sang of his fights and his loves; of the deeds of the 

weak and the strong. 



83 



And he told the truth as he saw it of the ways his fel- 
lows trod, 

And pinned his faith to the hearts of men — and denied 
his God. 

And gladly his fellows listened, whenever a tale he'd tell 
Of Man in his might and his glory, who feared neither 
Heaven nor Hell, 

And, being void of all fear, whose heart was free from 

hate, 
With only contempt for the craven who bowed to the 

whims of Fate. 

And gladly his fellows listened whenever a tale he told 
Of the way of a man with a maiden, the tale that shall 
never grow old. 

And as the tale that shall never grow old was the teller 

thereof, 
For Time had destroyed not his faith, nor his songs, nor 

his fellowmen's love. 

But Time, though it hurts not the soul, the body is ever 

its prey, 
And when his eightieth year was come, it took his body 

away. 

And the God of Things-As-They-Are, Who maketh man 
from dust. 



84 



He smiled in a whimsical way, for the God of Gods is 
just. 

And He spake : " The Glory of Heaven this man hath 

ever denied. 
He hath sung of the ways of the earth — on earth shall 

his soul reside." 

And he hath no harp to play on, nor hath he a pair of 

wings. 
But his soul lives on forever in the lyrics man still sings. 



The God of Things-As-They-Are, He maketh man from 

dust. 
And He smiles as He works away — for the God of Gods 

is fust. 



85 



LIFE 

The sun shines brightly this fair day; 

The birds sing lyrics to the skies. 
A hound who hears them starts to bay — 
Frightened, two horses run away — 

And so a statesman dies. 

And Fate, whose hand it is that rules. 
Who ends Life — as she does begin it 

Sharpens anew her merry tools. . . . 

And 0! she laughs at all the fools 
Who read a meaning in it. 



86 



HAPPY THOUGHT FOR SOME STRUGGLING 
NATION 

Though the privates may never return 

To the hearths and the homes that were theirs, 

Since the dukes and the viscounts are safe, 
Need we burden the Lord with our prayers? 



87 



THE GLADIATORS 

The blood of peasants is not red 
A hundred miles away. 

— Alfred Noyes. 

Said the bold and daring Kaiser to the stalwart Russian 

Czar, 
" You must learn your proper station. / will teach you 

who you are." 
So he ordered all his troops out and he sent them to the 

front. 
That's the way the fearless Prussian would accomplish 

that there stunt. 

Spoke the stalwart Russian Czar then to the dauntless 

Prussian King, 
" Who's afraid of you, Herr Wilhelm? You will not do 

no such thing! " 
And to show the Hohenzollern that he didn't give a hang. 
Ordered out five million soldiers for to lick that German 

gang. 

August 24, 1914. 



AN AVIATOR'S WAR 
GARDEN OF VERSES 

With What Apologies 
Are Necessary 



I 

A THOUGHT 

It doesn't seem exactly right 
To kill small children in the night. 
But German airmen on a raid 
Don't act like Christians, I'm afraid. 

II 

WHOLE DUTY OF AIRPLANES 

An airplane's duty is to do 
Just what its pilot wants it to, 
And keep its e-qui-lib-ri-um : 
Or it will go to Kingdom Come. 

m 

HAPPY THOUGHT 

The world is so full of a number of planes, 
We'll soon ride in airships instead of in trains. 

IV 

UNHAPPY THOUGHT 

The world is so full of a number of Germans, 
Bombarding them's better than sending them sermons. 
91 



V 

SYSTEM 

Every night my prayers I say 
That I may live another day; 
And every day that it is fair 
I go a-flying through the air. 

The man who doesn't land a Zep 
Is certainly devoid of pep. 
He is a pacifist, I'm sure — 
Or else his aim is very poor. 



VI 

LOOKING FORWARD 

When I have learned to sail my plane, 
I'll fly to France — and back again. 
I'll fly all over land and sea, 
And people will look up to me. 



VII 

TIME TO RISE 

A birdie perched upon a tree 
Hopped into the seat with me, 
Cocked his shining eye and cried, 
" Take me with you for a ride? " 

92 



VIII 
FOREIGN LANDS 



Up into the big blue sky 

With my little plane I fly. 

I hold the wheel with both my hands 

And travel over foreign lands. 



IX 

THE PLANES 



The planes are flying all around, 
They fly o'er land and sea. 

And Uncle Sam is sending some 
To fly to German-ee. 



Oct. 1917. 



93 



IN MEMORIAM: JAMES SAUNDERS O'NEALE, JR. 

Wounded in, action, August 27, 1918; died October 2, 
1918. 

There were so many battles to be won; 

So many joys and sorrows to discover; 

And we had need of you, laughing lover 
Of Life, to do the things that must be done — 

We could not think that Death would claim you yet: 
We were so careless of his constant warning — 
Oh, he would come, but this was Life's gay morning! 

And we forgot the thrust behind the threat. 

Now we must be content with memories — 

But, oh, a precious heritage is ours: 
Your laughter, vivid as an April breeze; 

Your tenderness, quiet as April showers; 
Your friendship, firm as earth; and, more than these, 

Your courage, radiant as grass and flov/ers. 



94 



THE ROGUE'S GALLERY SEAT 



THE THEATRE: A THEME WITH VARIATIONS 

The Theme: " All the world's a stage, and all the men and 
women merely players." — Shakespeare. 



As Old Walt Mason, who doesnt get paid by the line, 
might chortle it: 

We must agree, it seems to me, that all the world's a 
stage. The spotlight calls and each one falls, no matter 
what his age. Some ginks there are who think to star, 
although they're shy the goods; they soon will find the 
world's not blind — they'll go back to the woods! Oh, 
any loon can exit soon — it takes a man to stay ! If 
you won't quit, you'll make a hit, no matter what you 
play. Oh, no one starts in leading parts, but any man 
who works will find his name achieving fame — but woe 
to him who shirks! So play it fair; be on the square — 
don't trifle with your morals. The villain guy is bound 
to die; the hero lands the laurels. Oh, it's a great old 
game of Fate, this show we all are playing; and I and 
you both get our due, and that there's no gainsaying. So 
let us then act like real men and proudly we can sing 
with Avon's Bard, " Although it's hard — hail ho ! — the 
play's the thing." 

97 



II 

Old Walt Whitman plucks some " Leaves of Grass," a 
la Hughie Jennings, and " Chants Democratically " as 
follows: 

shows! theatres! 

actors legitimate, actresses illegitimate, motion picture 
stars, and Theda Bara! 

critics and criticasters ! Alan Dale, George Bernard 
Shaw and George Jean Nathan! 

American flag floating proudly in the breeze. Some- 
where in France, and in Geomcohan's early plays! 

Heaven! Hell! Tempora and Mores! O 
Boy! 

Hail, camerado! Star, character man, heavy, or co- 
median ! 

Hail, sister! Leading lady, ingenue, soubrette or chorus 
man! 

I, Walt Whitman, salute you! 

For we are all actors. 

And all the world is a stage! 

Yes, New York, Chicago, Baltimore, Kankakee, Berlin, 
Paris, Petrograd, Yonkers, Providence, and other one- 
night stands — 

All the world is a stage! 



98 



Ill 

Hughie Fullerton proves his point by some irrelevant, 
incompetent, but mathematical testimony: 

I have witnessed 22,097 shows in 8,043^ ^ theatres. 
In these shows, 376,650 actors, slightly more than the 
population of Providence, R. L, have taken part. There 
have been present on these occasions 2,462,843 persons, 
more than twice the number of readers of Dr. Berthold 
A. Baer. Taking the average family as numbering about 
five and making all due allowance for the number of 
married people who are compelled to attend the theatre 
together, it is evident that 9,043,628 persons, more than 
the population of New York, Yonkers and several points 
north, have been directly or indirectly interested in the 
theatre. 

These are the experiences of but one man. If we 
make note of the numerous matinees I have been com- 
pelled to miss because of the baseball season, it is clear 
that 968,876,543 individuals of all sizes, shapes, and 
colors are in some fashion connected with the drama. 
Or, in short, if all the world is not a stage, we are in- 
dubitably justified in assuming that a considerable por- 
tion of it is. 

( Watch for Mr. Fullerton' s article on " Burlesque 
Show Figures," an interesting statistical compilation of 
especial interest to the Tired Business Man.) 

1 Little theatres count as % in these figures. 



99 



IV 

Robert Louis Stevenson squats nonchalantly on a dead 
man's chest and quotes from a " Child's Winter Garden 
of Verses ": 



HAPPY THOUGHT 

The world is so full of a number of shows, 

We all should be jolly enough, goodness knows! 



100 



As Irving Berlin might have tampered with it in his 
early days: 

A sweet little girl, with a dear little curl, 

Climbed up on her daddy's knee. 
Daddy stole a sweet kiss from the cute little miss, 

And said, " Come, tell your troubles to me." 
Jenny sighed and said, " Pa, could you make me a star? 

On the stage I am longing to go." 
Daddy kissed his dear child as she winsomely smiled, 

And then he whispered low: 

Chorus 

" All of the world is a stage, my dear, 

And actors alone are not stars. 
We must all play our parts in this age, my dear ; 

Some play tragedy, others play farce. 
Some are the leaders the spotlight is for. 

Others are birds in a cage 
Who are breaking their hearts — but we all have our 
parts, 

(The final line is considerably higher than the costof- 
living) 

For all of the world is a sta-a-a-a-a-a-age ! " 



101 



VI 

Joseph R. Kipling, retaining all royalty rights, psy- 
chomalyses the female of the species: 

I've travelled around with the ladies, 

And, take it from one in the know, 
There's never a girl or a woman 

But is eager to join a show. 
Waitress or barmaid or servant, 

Spinster or widow or wife, 
They think — maugre their age — they were born for the 
stage. 

And the lot of an actress's life. 

When they are frying the bacon. 

When they are kneading the dough. 
It's shillings to peanuts ^ they're thinking 

How good they would be in a show. 
When it comes to ambitions that stick. 

They all have the self -same schemes; 
Both the Colonel's Lady and Judy O'Grady 

Play Juliet in their dreams. 

'^Editor's note to printer: If exchange situation does not clear 
up, make this read " It's peanuts to shillings." 



102 



THE TANGWAY TO FORTUNE 

She had nothing to wear — 
So she went on the stage. 
I have heard people swear 
She had nothing to wear 
When she sang " I Don't Care ! ' 

And became all the rage. 

She had nothing to wear — 

So she went on the stage. 



103 



TO DOROTHY BEATRICE NICHOLS 

On making her stage debut in " The Happy Ending." 

Dot, do you remember all the dreams we used to weave, 
Fairy dreams and airy dreams, spun o' Make-Believe? 

You would be an actress and would set the world afire; 
I would be a poet, and the world should praise my lyre. 

Cynical we were — how we used to mock the scheme o' 

things! 
Cynical and wary — but how we used to dream o' things ! 

How we used to laugh at the people who had " mis- 
sions " ! 
How we mocked each other and clung to our ambitions! 

Mocked each other's struggles — and urged each other 

fight — 
Jeered at all the Moral Codes — and wondered which 

was Right. 

Jeered at all the Moral Codes — called believers fools; 
Said the Game was rotten — and followed all its rules. 



104 



Earnest were we when we held the Game up to derision, 
Meant it, every sneering word — and yet we kept our 
vision. 

So, to-night, you hit the trail — the trail that leads to 

where? 
Does it lead to Happiness — or ends it in Despair? 

Wheresoever it may lead, only Fortune knows. 
But — the Gods of Chance be praised ! — it's the road 
you chose. 

Long the path and difficult — but with the gods attend- 
ing, 
May you finish as you start, with The Happy Ending. 



August 21, 1916. 



105 



LINA CAVALIERI 

Crash, cymbals, crash! Sound, concertina! 

Uke, ukeleles! Organs, grind! 
Let's get together and tell Lina 
What's on my mind. 

You do not understand? Oh, let me 

Admit my meaning wasn't plain. 
But Lina isn't either! Get me? 
She's on my brain. 

She's got me dizzy, dazzled, dippy! 

She's got me roped and thrown and tied! 
Fate, serve me with a girl as zippy 
To be my bride! 



106 



GEORGE M. COHAN 

A real live man 

Is George Co-han, 

Who's known from Maine to Far Japan. 

A rollicking 

And frolicking 

But never alcoholic King! 

Who's written many a well-known air 

Sung over here and " Over There." 



107 



DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS 

Five smashing, dashing, crashing reels 
With Douglas Fairbanks as the hero; 

A girl whose winsomeness appeals; 
A villain who is worse than Nero. 

Take these and mix them thoroughly 
(Doug's always ready for a mix-up) 

And scatter them o'er land and sea — 

But you can't break what Doug can't fix up! 

You ought to see how Douglas climbs! 

Some acrobat? You said a face full! 
Unlike these somewhat labored rhymes. 

His manner's easy, lithe, and graceful. 

He climbs up roofs; he climbs up trees; 

He climbs in any sort of climate; 
He climbs upon his hands and knees; 

He climbs so well that I can't rhyme it! 

He gets the villain — and his goat — 

He also gets the girl he's after; 
Besides, he gets the People's Vote 

Because his middle name is Laughter. 
108 



He puts the jinx upon the blues 
And is the public's benefactor — 

Which is the reason why they choose 
Him as their favorite movie actor. 



109 



BILL HART 

What time lie roams the well-known plains 
And makes a living robbing trains 
Until some female vamps his Hart, 
He holds us with his — call it " art." 

And yet we'd have you understand 
That Bill's not limited to land. 
We've seen him play a husky sailor 
Aboard a North Pacific whaler. 

Oh, put him on the land or sea — 
But show the five-reel film to me! 



110 



AROUND OUR STUDIO 



; 






I 

THE DIRECTOR ; 

Directors, so it seems to me, 
Are just as grand as they can be! 
They never talk in quiet tones — 
You see, they all use megaphones. 

They know what's what; they know who's who; 
They tell the stars just what to do! 
And when they talk, the stars are mute! . . , 
They tell the camera when to shoot. 

They're fond of laying down the law. 
And, oh! the salaries they draw! 

I'll say they lead a grand existence 

The work is done by their assistants. 



ir 

THE STAR: FEMALE OF THE SPECIES 

It's terrible to be a star — 
Some of them only have one car! 
And where's the woman could take pride in 
Her work with but one car to ride in? 
113 



Each morning at the stroke of ten 
They 'phone that they'll be late again. 
They make the studio by two 
And work an hour before they're through. 

So don't you think it's better far 
To be a salesgirl than a star 
Who gives her life to art for merely 
A paltry half-a-million yearly? 



Ill 

THE STAR: MALE OF THE SPECIES 

Two hundred perfumed notes a day 
He gets — I spealc of Wally Ray ; 
And though the weather's down to zero, 
These notes bring warmth unto our hero. 

He holds the female population 
Completely under subjugation; 
They love his pictures on the screen, 
And clip 'em from this ^ magazine. 

He's married — happily, they say. 
But still they hope — do Sue and May. . . 
Oh, would / had a handsome chin 
That showed a dimple when I'd grin! 

Photoplay. 

114 



IV 

THE CAMERA MAN 

And now, dear friends, come let us thank 
The camera man who turns the crank; 
Who gives us close-ups, and whose soul 
Meets unafraid the dual role. 

If incomplete the picture drama 
Without a city panorama, 
He hops into an airplane and 
Takes photographs to beat the band. 

He never boasts, but I, for one, 
Say he's the Man behind the Gun. 
And that's a fact there's no disputing: 
For doesn't he do all the shooting? 



V 

THE STUDIO CHILD 

Though I am young, I work each day; 
I'm seen in every picture play. 
My parts, like me, are rather small; 
Sometimes I grin, sometimes I bawl. 

I am the heroine, aged three; 

The leading man, at two — that's me ! 

Sex doesn't bother me at all; 

They say it doesn't when you're small. 

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But though I only have a bit, 
You bet I make the most of it! 
Although the plot makes people hoot, 
They always say my work is cute. 



VI 

THE INGENUE 

Behold our little ingenue 
With golden hair and eyes of blue. 
She's pretty, charming, dear and cute — 
Or, if you'd rather, she's a beaut! 

She is the hero's leading lady. 

Is Maude (whose parents named her Sadie) ; 

And in the fifth and final reel 

Their clinches make the " heart appeal." 

Maude seems so young . . . and yet they say 
That she was not born yesterday. 
I looked it up — and it is true : 
She has a daughter, twenty-two. 



VII 

THE VAMPIRE 

Here's she whose sacrifice to Art 
Has left her with a broken heart; 
Though she is known from Maine to Cal. 
It's as a " downright wicked gal ". 
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She may not drop a single tear, 
But always wears a baneful sneer; 
She hypnotizes every male. 
And sends the boob to death — or jail. 

While others know what joy and bliss is. 
She only draws the people's hisses. . . . 
Yet would you not draw hisses gaily 
If you drew ninety dollars daily? 

VIII 

" PROPS " 

His name is never on the screen 
(Which he regards as rather mean), 
And yet without his help, I'll bet 
The picture would not boast a set. 

Without his necessary work, 
Alas! Miss Billie could not Burke; 
Without him, Charlie could not Ray; 
Without him, Doris could not May. 

Unsung, unhonored and unknown. 
He may not climb to screendom's throne. . 
Yet drop no tear upon these pages 
For him; he draws the union wages. 

IX 

THE STUDIO DOG 

He doesn't see the sense of it. 
The how or why or whence of it. 
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But heartache — he has none of it, 
And his is all the fun of it. 

The pleasure of the chase he gets, 
And cares not for the space he gets. 
He doesn't scan the papers, 0! 
For records of his capers, 0! 

In danger he's heroical; 
His attitude is stoical: 
Let others draw the salaries — 
His pictures fill the galleries! 



X 

THE CASTING DIRECTOR 

He's very popular, is he, 
With all the movie coterie. 
In fact, he is more pop-u-lar 
Than even any movie star. 

The greetings that he gets are hearty; 
He's asked to every single party. 
They tell him stories to delight him, 
And never, never, never slight him. 

They cast their bread — you get my meaning 
And he casts them — that is, for screening. 
Time was the movies had no caste — 
But that day, as you see, is past. 

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XI 

THE TECHNICAL DIRECTOR 

He makes most intricate designs 
And worries over curves and lines. 
And v/hile the supers roll the bones. 
He's puzzling out the shades and tones. 

If there's a trap-door that they need, 
They call on him for double speed. 
What hats they wore in '94 — 
He knows all that and much, much more. 

He works so hard on every fillim, 
His tasks, I fear, will some day kill him . 
And when the picture's done and ended, 
The people say, " The star is splendid ! ' 



XII 

THE PRESS AGENT 

A man of superhuman knowledge, 
With six degrees from every college; 
Who knows the stars well, and can speak 
Of them in Latin and in Greek. 

He tells the world about the stars — 
Some day he hopes to send to Mars 
A piece of real important news: 
Some star has bought herself new shoes. 
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He never, honest-hope-to-die, 
(Take this from him) concocts a lie. 
Yet there are times, I've heard it stated. 
When he has — well — exaggerated. 



120 



ASK ANY AUTHOR 

When I write a song with a ring to it — 
With a lively dash and a swing to it, 

Or a musical line full of babbling and rippling, 
My friends will say with a cheering smile 
That they knew I could do it all the while — 

" It's great, boy, we swear — it reminds us of Kip- 



And often when I am in pensive mood. 

And think how wondrous strange the scheme of things, 

And ponder o'er the mysteries of life. 

And blindly guess at that which lies behind. 

Then strange thoughts come to mind, unto the which 

I give expression in this heavy verse. 

And friends, what time they read the same, will say: 

" 'Tis good. Methinks it has some Shakespeare in't." 

But when I write a meaningless line 

Or two, with a fearful rhyme. 

And the meter halts, 

And there are a couple of other faults. 

My friends will sneer and say: 

"Huh! That sounds like you!" 



121 



